


For What Binds Us

by aveyune23



Series: Out of the Wilderness [3]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Battle Scars, Established Relationship, F/M, Idiots in Love, Naked Cuddling, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wilderness Survival, survival snuggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 17:36:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13346154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aveyune23/pseuds/aveyune23
Summary: ”She had confessed to Cassian once that she liked to stand in the rain, but this? This was overkill.”In which a mission gets scrapped, Jyn gets wet (and cold), and Cassian says “shit” a lot.





	For What Binds Us

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to part 3 of the “Out of the Wilderness” series! You can thank @imsfire for this one. Thanks for the poetry reblog, love!

_“And when two people have loved each other / see how it is like a / scar between their bodies, / stronger, darker, and proud; / how the black cord makes them a single fabric / that nothing can tear or mend.”_

_”For what binds us”_

_Jane Hirshfield, The Beauty: Poems_

 

* * *

She had confessed to Cassian once that she liked standing in the rain, but this?

This was overkill.

It was like Eadu, but worse. So much worse. Visibility was next to zero — she could see about two feet in front of her before the downpour blocked everything out. The ground was a veritable bog. Her boots squelched and sunk and stuck in the mud, and she had lost count of how many times she had lost one, or the other, or both. So she had mucky feet crammed into soaked boots, the mud squishing between her toes. On top of that, her poncho had done nothing to keep her dry — she was soaked to the bone.

It wouldn’t have been so bad, really, had it not also been cold.

Horribly cold. Not cold enough to freeze, which Jyn almost would have preferred, because at least snow didn’t leave you drenched.

No, it was warm enough to remain rain, but cold enough to make it seem like someone was dumping a bucket full of ice water on her head — a bucket that never became empty.

Her teeth had begun chattering. Audibly. Her comm earpiece crackled, and Cassian’s voice came through.

”Jyn? Are you okay?”

She knew he was somewhere ahead of her, but with such piss-poor visibility, she couldn’t tell if he was only ten feet away, or ten yards.

”Fine,” she replied, but she couldn’t stop her teeth from clacking together.

”Where are you?” His voice was concerned, on edge.

”Behind you. I think.”

”Stay there. Don’t move. I’m coming to find you.”

”Copy — copy that.”

She had begun shivering. She stopped walking and wrapped her arms around herself, hunching over, trying to contain any body heat she might have. She stared ahead, blinking rain out of her eyes, looking for the light of Cassian’s head lamp. He couldn’t have been that far away.

Her shaking intensified. She grit her teeth to keep herself from cutting her tongue in half.  _Where was he?_

And then a light appeared, followed quickly by Cassian, who rushed to her side.

”Jyn!”

”Th-there you a-are,” she said, falling into his arms. She was shaking violently now. She closed her eyes.

”Jyn? Jyn, no. Stay awake.” He shook her, and she groaned.

”M’cold.”

He rubbed his hands up and down her arms, but it did no good.

”We have to get you back to the ship,” he said. He sounded afraid.

Jyn’s whole body was tense, her muscles locked up in an effort to preserve heat. She couldn’t move. She said as much. Cassian slung her arm across his shoulders.

”You have to help me,” he told her, his voice starting to shake. “You have to move.”

She nodded slowly. “M’kay...”

They were almost to the ship when her shaking stopped. Cassian froze.

”Jyn? Jyn! C’mon, we’re almost there, you can make it —“

But her legs wouldn’t hold her. In some distant and still relatively lucid part of her brain, she recognized that she was suffering from hypothermia. They had received extensive training on it, shortly after arriving on Hoth. She remembered the symptoms: shivering, slurred speech, lack of coordination, drowsiness...

_Check, check, check, and check._

Loss of consciousness was next. She wondered dimly if she would know she was passing out, or if it would just happen.

She discovered shortly: it just happened.

* * *

Jyn went limp, and Cassian cursed. Loudly.

He could see the lights of their ship. They were close. He called her name, shook her, but her head rolled on her neck. She had passed out.

”Shit. Shit!”

The mud was deep, but he had no choice. He picked her up, sunk a few good inches, and moved as fast as he could. He had to get her inside, and fast. As he ran, or did his best at running, he furiously scanned through his memories of first aid training.  _Handle person gently. Remove wet clothing. Cover with blankets. Apply warm compresses to neck, chest wall, or groin..._

He made it to the ship and punched the door lock. It began to open, slowly, too slow...

”Come on!” he shouted at it, like it would help. But it felt good to yell.

As soon as he could fit through the door he climbed inside and carefully laid her on the floor. He slammed his fist on the door lock, didn’t wait to see if it was actually closing. He was tearing through their supplies, grabbing blankets from their bunks, emergency blankets from the medkit. 

He fell to his knees and started to attempt to remove her clothes, but he remembered from training  _minimal movement. Cut wet clothes away if necessary._

Shit.

He went back to the medkit, dug through it, found a pair of scissors, and went to work on the poncho, her jacket, her vest, her shirt, carefully cutting through and peeling away the layers. She was soaked to the skin. He tugged off her boots and muddy socks, his heart pounding in panic.

”Shit,” he was muttering under his breath, a fear-fueled mantra. “Shit.”

It occurred to him as he was cutting away her pants, and then her bra and underwear, that he was seeing her naked for the first time.

He wished he’d been able to appreciate it more, but given the circumstances, appreciation would have to wait.

He laid two blankets down and rolled her onto them, then covered her with the remaining ones. Her lips were blue.

”Shit.”

He sat back, wracking his brain. What else could he do? There were no compresses on board. He had no other source of warmth, other than —

_Shit._

He started yanking off his clothes, remembering a winter from his childhood, when he’d gotten caught in a blizzard, and his brother —

He slammed the door on that memory.

As he pulled off his shirt, he realized that he was shaking. Shivering. Idiot. He’d been so occupied with trying to save her life, that he’d gone and let himself sit in soaking wet, cold gear. He’d been so worried about  _her_ , he hadn’t noticed that his teeth were chattering.

He changed mantras.

”Fuck,” he stuttered. “F-fuck.”

This wasn’t exactly how he had planned on being naked with her for the first time, but he immediately let go of that disappointment. As he climbed under the blankets and pulled her close, he didn’t even spare a thought for it. She was like ice. He wrapped the blankets around them as tight as he could, held her as close to his body as was possible, and prayed — actually  _prayed_ — that she would wake up.

The fact that she felt cold to him meant that he was warmer than she was. He hoped that his body heat would be enough. He pressed his forehead to her cheek, shut his eyes, imagined her getting warmer, shivering, opening her eyes...

”Dammit Jyn,” he muttered. He knew she couldn’t hear him, but scolding her made him feel better. “You couldn’t have told me sooner that you were cold? That’s how you — g-get yourself killed.”

Had she been conscious, she would have slapped his arm and snapped something snarky, like “Look who’s talking!”

He smirked thinking about it.

He occupied himself by counting the freckles on her nose. The stood out in stark contrast to her pale skin. He’d always wanted to count them. She just never held still long enough for him to take a crack at it.

He was somewhere around 50 when she groaned.

He snapped to attention. She was moving, slowly, like her limbs were too heavy. He pulled her closer.

”Easy,” he murmured. “You’re okay.”

Her brows drew together, then relaxed. She was starting to shiver. That was a good sign.

”Jyn?” He pushed her hair back behind her ear. Her cheek felt warmer.

”Cassian?” Her eyes fluttered open then closed again.

He let go a massive sigh of relief.

”Oh, thank the Force.”

Her lips twitched.

”D-didn’t know you were th-the praying t-type.”

Normally that remark would have earned her a glare, but all he did was laugh.

He wanted to kiss her. He hadn’t kissed her since before they’d stepped off the ship only hours before. Her body felt warmer, but he wanted to make sure that her lips were warmer, too.

He was just being a thorough medic, that’s all.

(Her lips  _were_ warmer, in case you were wondering.)

But as she became warmer, he became increasingly aware that she was naked, and that  _he_ was naked next to her. And as she grew more and more alert, a new panic set in: _what if she gets mad that I saw her naked without her permission?_ Which was ridiculous, of course. She had been dying of hypothermia.

That thought made him crush her to him. She had almost  _died._

”Cassian,” she mumbled. “I can’t breathe—“

”Huh? Oh.” He eased up, but didn’t let her go. “Sorry.”

She opened her eyes, squinting at her surroundings, and then turned her head towards him.

”What happened?”

”Hypothermia,” he told her, suddenly aware that her legs were tangled up with his. “You almost froze to death.”

She closed her eyes, humming in acknowledgement. “I honestly thought that would happen on Hoth, not here. Where are we again —?”

”Doesn’t matter.” She had shifted; her thigh was sliding against his. “I’ll have to radio Command. This mission is scrapped.”

She nodded, and turned towards him, burrowing her nose into his chest. He sucked in a breath.

”Mmm, you’re warm...”

It shouldn’t have been a big deal. They’d shared a bed before — most nights, actually — and had laid in that bed in this exact position dozens of times. But they had been clothed.

It was getting hotter under the pile of blankets. He felt like he was sweating. Her cheeks were rosy pink. That was good.

Her hand had been on his chest, but it traveled lower, to his waist, and kept going. He froze.

She froze too, her hand on his ass.

”Cassian?” she asked, pulling her hand away.

”Hm?”

”Why are you naked?” A brief pause, and then, “We’re both naked.”

_Shit shit shit —_

“Hypothermia,” was all he said.

”Hm.” She didn’t seem convinced. “So...”

”I couldn’t get you warm,” he explained, looking anywhere but at her face. He knew she was giving him a look. “It was a last-ditch effort,” he finished lamely.

”Uh-huh.”

She was going to kill him.

He finally looked at her face. Her expression was passive, which said a lot. She was learning from him.

”I’m sorry,” he said. “But you were dying, and—“

She giggled. She  _giggled_ at him. He propped himself up on his forearm and stared at her.

”What?” he demanded.

”Sorry,” she said, her shoulders shaking from laughter. “I’m sorry. You just—“ She laughed again, and he sat up, turning away from her.

”Well clearly you’re feeling better,” he snapped.  _Ungrateful little—_

Her laughing ceased. A hand rested on his back, light, tentative. He turned his head. Her expression had changed to something somber, her eyes sad. He frowned, about to ask her what was wrong, but her hand began tracing patterns across his skin, and he realized: she was touching his scars.

It had never occurred to him that she’d never seen them. He’d just assumed that she knew. But knowing and seeing were two different things. Her eyes said as much.

Her fingertips ran over the knobs of his spine. He could see her counting. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 — the vertebrae they’d replaced. He’d never seen that scar, but he knew what it felt like: an 8-inch strip of ropey tissue. But he could see most of the other scars, the ones she was touching now. Patches of pink, shiny and tight, even half a year later. Even a bacta tank hadn’t been able to heal the burns completely. He opened his mouth to tell her not to worry, but she gathered the blanket around her and sat up, pressing her right side against his left. He looked down at their arms, both a patchwork quilt of burn scars.

”We match,” she said softly.

His throat closed up, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders to pull her close. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, too overcome with emotion to speak right away.

”I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It’s my fault—“

”Hush.”

She nodded and fell silent. They sat there for a while, quiet, listening to the hum of the ship and each other’s breathing.

”Quit trying to die on me,” he said after a bit. Her shoulders moved in a silent and short laugh.

”I could say the same for you.”

He laughed out loud.

”Cassian?”

”Hm?”

”We’re still naked.”

”Oh.”

She pulled away from him. “Our clothes should be dry by now, right?” Her eyes scanned the ship.

Shit.

”About that...”

She looked at him. “What?”

”I had to cut your clothes off—“

”What?!”

She threw the blanket back and leapt up, diving for the pile of rags nearby. She dug through it and came up with the remains of her vest.

”Cassian!” She stared at him with betrayal written all over her face.

”I’m sorry! I had to get it off!”

”My  _vest?_ ”

Really? They were fighting about a vest?

”You were  _unconscious—_ “

”Right. Hypothermia.” She sifted through the pile, mumbling about the damage, apparently having completely forgotten that she was stark naked.

Cassian hadn’t forgotten. He was, in fact, very much aware.

He tried not to stare, but she wasn’t paying attention, holding up pieces of her shredded gear and grumbling about how she had traded Kara a weeks worth of insta-caf for that utility shirt with the extra pockets. His mouth had gone dry, and he licked his lips, unable to stop himself from imagining how she might look if she were on her back, beneath him, eyes closed and mouth open as he —

He groaned and fell backward onto the blankets, his hands over his face.

She was going to kill him.

”Jyn,” he said through his hands.

”What?” she snapped.

”Could you put some clothes on?”

Her immediate and inconsiderate retort was, “I would, if you hadn’t hacked all of them to pieces.”

He inhaled slowly, counted to five, and let it out through his nose.

”You have a set in your bunk.”

”Well maybe I don’t  _like_ my extra clothes.”

He bit back a few choice words, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

”Jyn, please. You’re... distracting me.”

She fell silent. Cassian looked over at her and found that she was blushing.

”Oh.”

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes again, trying to slow his heart rate down, but he made the mistake of looking at her again as she stood and walked over to the bunk. She was perfect from behind, too.

He started reciting the Declaration of Rebellion in his head. In binary, for good measure. On his 3rd repetition, he felt her kneel next to him, and he opened his eyes. She was clothed, and was holding out his spare set of clothes.

”Yours are still wet,” she said. He sat up, making sure the blanket was firmly in place, and accepted the peace offering.

”Thanks.”

She hesitated, then leaned down and kissed him.

”Thanks for saving my life,” she said, before standing and heading for the cockpit. He watched her climb the ladder, and then fell back onto the blankets, groaning.

It was going to be a  _long_ flight back to Echo Base.

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhhhh, these two idiots... see you in the next one! We can’t let that sexual tension stew forever, now can we? ;)
> 
> Find me on tumblr @kotaface for previews of future chapters, tiny drabbles, or just to chat!


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